I Believe
by Cat Lunanoff
Summary: A girl is taken to Neverland by a mysterious shadow and lives as a Lost Boy for 7 years until her mother locks her up at her old home. Seven years later, she is still trying to go back when she is taken to the North Pole by our very own Jack Frost. Apparently, a war is brewing between the two groups and she is about to be caught in the middle... (Rated T because I'm paranoid)
1. Prologue

**I** **Believe||Prologue**

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_Disclaimer: I do not own RotG_

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Somewhere in Neverland (by All Time Low, Don't Panic album)

_You say goodbye to the halls and the classes  
Say hello to a job and the taxes  
The weekends with old friends spilling into 9 to 5 routine  
Tell me how you feel over and done with  
Like your life is a map with no compass to guide,  
At the bar drinkin' way too much We sing along to 'Forever Young'._

_So here we go again  
Wishin' we could start again  
Wendy run away with me  
I know I sound crazy  
Don't you see what you do to me?  
I wanna be your lost boy  
Your last chance, a better reality_

_Wendy we can get away I promise if you're with me, say the word and we'll find a way  
I can be your lost boy, your last chance  
Your 'everything better' plan  
Oh, somewhere in Neverland  
(Somewhere in Neverland)_

_We'll start a life of the plain and the simple  
Of great times with far better people  
And weekends with our friends  
Laughing 'bout the wine that stains their teeth  
We'll talk about how your parents separated and  
How you don't wanna make the same mistakes as them  
I'll say it's all about stickin' it out  
And trying to feel forever young_

_So here we go again  
Wishin' we could start again  
Wendy run away with me  
I know I sound crazy  
Don't you see what you do to me?  
I want to be your lost boy  
Your last chance, a better reality_

_Wendy we can get away  
I promise if you're with me, say the word and we'll find a way  
I can be your lost boy, your last chance  
Your 'everything better' plan  
Oh, somewhere in Neverland_

_Oh, oh,_

_So here we go again  
Wishin' we could start again_

_Wendy run away with me  
I know I sound crazy  
Don't you see what you do to me?  
I want to be your lost boy  
Your last chance, a better reality_

_Wendy we can get away  
I promise if you're with me, say the word and we'll find a way  
I can be your lost boy, your last chance  
Your 'everything better' plan  
Oh, somewhere in Neverland  
Oh, somewhere in Neverland  
(Somewhere in Neverland)_

* * *

I was excited.

With my backpack on my back, stuffed with things I thought I'd need, and numerous layers of clothing covering my body, I felt I was almost ready. I looked over my boots and tried to rub out a scuff mark with the sleeve of my coat. It didn't work, but I put them on anyway.

Time for the last step in my preparation.

I raised the large, sharp kitchen knife in one hand and gripped my silky shoulder-length hair with the other. I brought the knife close to my head and pulled my hair across the blade. It sheared off quickly, and I wanted to pause, but if I stopped to think about it I might back out. And there was no backing out in the games I played.

I cut until there was a small pile of hair on the floor. I shook my head and brushed stray blonde strands off my shoulders. I ran my hand through my hair the way I had seen boys do, imitating their motion. I had been working on it for weeks, all building up to this. I stood by my huge window, large enough to jump out of. Which, coinciden-_not_-tally, was my plan.

I threw the window open and planted my heavily booted feet slightly apart. I took a deep breath and glanced back at my door. No lights, no noises. Perfect.

I whispered, "I believe," into the mid-January air spilling through my window. "_I believe_."

* * *

I chewed the inside of my cheek as I waited, sparkling green eyes full of hope, but that hope dimmed after a few minutes and nothing happened. I sighed and took a step back, putting my knife in a homemade sheath and slipping it into a pocket of my green backpack. "I guess he isn't real," I whispered, heartbroken. "I believe, I _do_, I really do. So why didn't you come?" My words were pulled away into the night by the wind.

The air had previously been very very still, with nary a breeze to speak of. Now, it was tumultuous and there was a cool gale whipping my newly cropped hair around. I shook my head and laughed quietly, not wanting to wake my family, taking delight in the cool air and the lack of weight on my head.

The clear sky clouded over, blocking the light of the stars, but the moon burned a hole through the vapor, glowing almost angrily. The two forces seemed to fight one another, but a dark speck darted out of the clouds, headed straight towards my house. There were two pinpricks of light in it.

I climbed up onto the windowsill and hung half-out, my feet and hand supporting me while the other waved. "I believe!" I said, louder than before. "I believe!"

The dark thing hovered in from of me. It was the shape of a person, and the glowing spots were where eyes were supposed to be. It held out a hand to me and I smiled, flashing a pearly grin. "Peter Pan's shadow," I whispered in awe. I leaned out the window and reached for its hand, but it was _just_ too far away. I stretched, and it pulled its hand back. I laughed again. "A game?" It nodded, or I assumed it nodded. "Okay. I love games!"

It held out its hand, about ten feet away from the window. I grinned and crouched, gathering all my strength. I jumped for all I was worth and caught its hand, dangling in the air. I hung on for dear life as we flew in front of the moon.

* * *

The shadow dissipated and I dropped to the sand. We had headed towards the second star to the right and flew straight on 'till morning. When dawn came, the shadow faded and I fell. I rolled several feet down the beach, getting a close-up look at the sand.

I climbed to my knees and then my feet, brushing the sand off my pants and going to tuck my hair behind my ear out of habit before touching the short ends of the strands and ruffling it instead. I stretched, then put my hands in my pockets and started walking inland, taking in everything my senses gave me and preserving it.

I had gotten drowsy halfway across the ocean and I almost missed sight of the island. It looked like a magical place, with a mermaid lagoon, an Indian encampment, and a pirate ship in a cove. There was mountains and jungle and rocks protruding from certain places in the water. It was exactly the way I thought it would be.

"Halt!" a boy's voice commanded. I stopped walking and tilted my head slightly to the right to hear better. There was rustling in the bushes to my left. I pulled out my knife but didn't attack, leaving it in the sheath. I crept over to the bushes and peeped over them. There was a set of blue eyes looking right back at me, and the eyes fell away as I fell backwards in slight shock. I thought it would just be an animal or something.

"Who are you?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"I'm Peter Pan," the owner of the eyes said boastfully, standing fully.

My jaw dropped. "Whoa..."

He had bright blue eyes and dirty-blond hair*****. He looked like he was twelve, just like me. His clothes were kind of green, but definitely not like in the movies. He was wearing regular brown pants and a green shirt. He didn't have shoes and his clothing was ragged and outdated, covered in dirt. He had dirt smeared on his face, and I almost wrinkled my nose. He needed fresh clothes and a bath. He was holding a dingy dagger, but it looked sturdy enough and sharp enough. For what, I couldn't tell you.

"Hi," I said, pushing my shoulders back and no longer slouching. "I'm Li- Lion **((Lee-on))**." I almost said 'Lilliana', but I stopped myself in time. "But my friends call me Lee."

"Hi there, Lee," Peter said jovially. "Welcome to Neverland."

I grinned. "Cool!"

"The shadow brought you here?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yep. I played a game with it where I had to jump out my window really far and grab its hand to get here."

Peter looked excited. "Really? None of the other Lost Boys have a story like that! Hey boys! We got a newcomer!" He made a motion like 'come over' with his arm and boys in regular clothing, mostly dark colors, but that could have been the filth that coated them like a second skin, came out of the bushes. They had fur hats on, of different animals. They were all twelve or younger. Some of them were adorable, but they all carried knives, even one that looked to be my little brother Ethan's age, about five. But then again, we were all too young to be carrying knives, really. Especially as weapons.

The littlest boy tugged on my coat sleeve and pointed to the knife wrapped in sewn-together rags in my hand. "What's that?"

In answer, I stepped back and unsheathed it. The shiny blade as long as my whole arm gleamed brightly in comparison to their rusty old ones. I held it high above my head. "It's my knife," I crowed proudly. "I stole it from my mother myself!"

Peter's face darkened when I said 'mother', so I added on to my sentence. "I hate her!"

They all gasped.

"How can you hate your mother? We had one once. She was nice. But then she left," said a tall one in maroon.

I scowled. "My mother was mean. So I told her I wanted to chop off her head!" I yelled, making a slicing motion with my sword, as I began to think of it. "I didn't, but I _told_ her I was going to!"

They whooped and clapped me on the back. Someone slapped a fur hat on my head and then they touched my backpack. "What is it?" one asked in fascination.

"It's my backpack." I pulled it off and hugged it to my chest. "It has all my worldly possessions in it," I said, pronouncing the words carefully to make sure I got them right.

I unzipped it and pulled out a hammer. "This is the hammer I got stuck in my forehead once," I said eagerly, showing them the twin horizontal lines in my forehead, merely small pale scars. They reached out to touch the scars and the hammer. "It hurt a lot," I said with pride. "But I didn't even cry!" Mostly because I was going into shock and couldn't feel anything, but still.

I pulled out a long, thin shard of glass. "This is a piece from the mirror my nanny broke just by looking in it!" they looked at their reflections as they passed it around, some slicing their fingers on the edge. Peter admired himself for a long time.

"What else do you got in there?" Peter asked.

I noticed he closed his hand around the mirror and held out my hand for it. "I want my trophy back," I said stubbornly. "Gimme the mirror first. And who took my hammer?" I took it from someone's unwilling grasp and took the mirror too, bits of blood dripping from tiny cuts on my hands. I wrapped it in a piece of fabric and put it back.

"Nobody can touch my stuff," I warned. "It's _mine_, _I_ stole it. It took me a long time to get all this stuff." I snapped the tiny suitcase lock with the number combination on the zippers, locking it closed. "This is the only way to open it. And I locked it, so you guys can't."

"Do you have any stories?" a fat boy asked.

I thought. "Well, I know a lot of fairytales. And I read a lot of books. And I like making up stories sometimes too. So yes."

"Can you tell us one?" As we talked, we walked into the shade of the forest and between two tree roots, down into a large burrow.

I sat on the dirt floor and they sat around me. "I can tell you about Santa Claus, and the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy, and even the Sandman! He's the one that makes you fall asleep at night! And he flies around in this yellow -no more like gold,- airplane, and it goes vrrrmm, raaaaa," I continued with the sound effects and made motions with my hands as I talked. "Or I can tell you tales of pirates, of pretty girls, princesses, princes, I can tell you stories of Peter Pan and the Lost  
Boys in Neverland, even-"

"I want to hear the story of Peter Pan!" They started pitching in, all voting for the Peter story.

I looked over at the main character warily. He had a spark of interest in his eyes, but he was leaning against the wall and cleaning his dagger. He was clearly sensitive about mothers, so I started with an adventure story, my voice so low they had to lean in to hear me. "Once upon a time, there was a boy named Peter. Peter Pan..."

* * *

"... but parents tell their children never to say those two words, _I believe_. They tell the children Peter Pan isn't real, that he's only a fairy tale, because every single grown up knew a kid who said the words and they were taken away to Neverland. They don't want their children to leave, so they act selfishly." I frowned slightly. "But my mother gave me your story. It was one of the only stories I was allowed to read. I always heard her telling my brother never to say that, warning him, but she never said anything to me. Ever. And that's why I hate her. She didn't love me enough to care if I left. So I did." The story was getting a bit too sad for my tastes.

"And I jumped right out the window! The shadow was really far away. I almost missed it and _died_, I could have been a splat on the pavement-" I slapped my hands together, miming it, "-but I made it! It flew me all the way here and dropped me on the beach this morning. And that's when you guys found me."

"That's so cool! Mine didn't go like that! Peter just came and got me himself," one boy piped up.

"Really?"

Peter stood, drawing my attention. "Yep. Brought everyone here myself. You're the first one to get here by shadow."

He reached out as if to touch my knife, but I pushed it further into my bag. "Get your own knife," I said. "This one's mine."

He drew himself up. "As the leader of the Lost Boys, I command you to give me your knife. It's _mine_ now."

I shook my head. "Nuh-uh. Mine. But I know where we can get more. Dozens of bright shiny knives. I could show you if you want. They're back in my world."

He tilted his head, considering it. "Deal. But you gotta prove yourself first. C'mon! Let's go see the mermaids!" He jumped into the air and flew, the Lost Boys trailing behind him clumsily on the ground and through trees.

I looked around carefully before looking at my feet. I closed my eyes and thought happy thoughts, blindingly brilliant thoughts. I looked down. My feet were still solidly planted on the ground.

I though back, to one of my earliest memories. Just remembering brought all the fury back, white-hot and deadly. I lifted off into the air and swooped after Peter, silently praying that I wouldn't mess this up the way I did everything else.

The moon shone down on me, casting a shadow onto the ground. I hissed through my teeth, "Oh, shut up," and the glow dimmed to barely there.

Ah, much better. Now, to find a safe place to land...

* * *

"Do you trust me?"

Peter's blade had just broken during a battle with Hook. He wanted mine. I wanted to keep mine. So I proposed we go get more.

He eyed me. "Why do you ask, Lee?"

_Lee_. Stupid Lee, I can't remember my old name anymore, but I can't always remember Lee either. "Because I know where we can get more swords. My-" I broke off, trying to remember what I was going to say. It was somebody _important_. "-I used to have knives. A whole lot, larger than this, even! Dozens, no, no, _hundreds_! We can get enough swords to last _forever_!" I jumped and punched the air in excitement. "All we have to do is fly back to where the shadow got me, and there was a room with a wooden block and a strip of metal on the wall, and they'll be there."

Peter looked impressed. "Alright. I'll go get some pixie dust!" He flew off to go get Tinker Bell, and I gathered the Lost Boys.

Their- I should say, _our-_ ranks hadn't grown much over the time I'd been here. We gained a couple, and lost a couple of fingers in the process, including me.

Half of the top joint of my right middle finger had been cut off in a game, the nail still slightly there but not all the way, and it never grew. The cut was clean but on an odd angle; it was my main identifying feature besides all my stories and knowledge, and of course being Peter's lieutenant and second in command.

If I wanted wake someone up in the dark or pull them back for a special mission, I would press that finger somewhere, like in the hollow between their collarbones, where you could clearly feel it was not a regular finger. Or I could freak someone out with it.

I barely even noticed when I got it; it had happened in one of my first games, and I quickly adjusted and practiced so it wouldn't happen again.

"Oi! John******! Get the others!" I whisper-shouted, my finger in the soft spot behind his ear. I felt him nod and he ran away to get George, Sam, Robert, Rascal, Joseph, and our most recent addition, Amos. We had lost a couple of boys -hehe, Lost Boys humor- and we'd only been able to replace one. No one believed enough to come here anymore.

I ran back to the beach where I first arrived at Neverland. I tightened the straps on my backpack and started cleaning my blade, sharpening it a bit as I watched them run from the tree line.

Peter swooped over the jungle and landed in the sand, facing me and the other boys. "Okay boys! Take some dust!" He shook Tinker Bell's pixie dust over our heads and we started to rise into the air. We flew after Peter, into my world.

Once we passed through the veil separating the worlds, I took the lead, instinctively flying down to my old house. I crouched on an open windowsill and looked in. It was still my family's. It felt so weird, thinking of families and houses, warmth and love.

I shook off those stupid thoughts and pushed the window open silently, holding it open as everyone flew through. They landed on the tile and I propped the window open.

I walked over to the magnetic knife holder and started yanking knives down, wrapping them in dishrags and putting them in our belts. Everyone followed my lead and soon they all had new knives. We ransacked the knife block and the pantry as well, taking backpacks and bags from the closet and filling them with goods.

There was a slight shuffling sound and we all froze. I ushered everyone back to the window, but someone walked through the door, an innocent expression on their angelic face, pausing mid-yawn. The water glass they were holding slipped through their fingers and shattered on the floor.

I stopped helping and stared at the boy standing in the doorway. I took a step forwards, broken glass lodging in the soles of my bare feet. "Ethan?" I whispered in shock.

"Lilliana?" he asked, staring right back.

I knew the light and hope in my eyes betrayed me. "My name is Lee," I said semi-sternly. Then I melted again. "Oh Ethan, you're so grown up!"

"Lil- Lee? It's really you?"

I moved forwards slowly until we were a foot apart. "Yeah. Ethan, you're _my_ age now!" I exclaimed incredulously.

Peter called from the window impatiently, "Hey Lee, you coming or are we leaving without you?" The bag on his back was bulging with goodies and treasures.

I tore my eyes away from Ethan. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm coming Peter. Give me a second."

We both moved impulsively, wrapping out arms around each other in the usual pattern. "It was nice to see you again," I whispered.

Then I pulled away and thought happy thoughts, the pixie dust lifting me up slightly. I felt a sharp pain in my feet and realized there was glass in them. I would have to pull it out later.

Ethan reached out and grabbed my wrist. "Please don't go."

"I'm going home Ethan. Goodbye. Maybe I'll visit you in a few more years." I felt guilty for lying so smoothly, but it satisfied him, and he released me.

A familiar woman walked through the doorway to the kitchen, rubbing her eye with one hand. She had less wrinkles in her face, and it looked like plastic, but she was unmistakably the same. "Ethan, are you alright? I heard glass-" she broke off and looked at me.

I quickly landed on the floor.

Her eyes narrowed. "You," she said in a dangerously low voice.

"Mother," I said back coldly.

"Lil-"

"Lee," I said harshly. "I go by Lee."

"_Lee_," she sneered. "You have nerve to come back here."

I smirked. "_You_ have nerve to still be here. I thought you would be dead by now."

Ethan almost hit me. "Don't talk to my mother like that!"

"Shut _up_ Ethan. This is between us." I pushed him to the side, but away from the window. Peter was giving everyone directions to get back to Neverland as he waited for me.

"You little brat," she hissed, advancing over the glass. I noted with satisfaction that she had put on weight. "Do you know what you did to this family?"

Ethan looked stricken. It made me furious and I almost rose off the ground again. "What?" I growled.

"Your father committed suicide!" she shrieked.

I stumbled backwards like I'd been punched in the gut. "No," I whispered. "Father would never-"

"Well he did," she snapped. "Because you ran away!"

"I ran away because of _you_!" I shouted. "_You_ were the one that told me to do it! Don't make me the bad guy! And I'm _glad_ I did. My life was so much better _once_ _you were out of it!_"

Ethan looked pained, like he didn't know which side to choose. "Please-"

I cut him off. "Ethan, go back to bed."

"But-"

"Go back to bed _now_," I said, very aware of Peter studying Ethan. I could tell, he wanted another Lost Boy in the gang.

"I'm twelve. You don't tell me what to do."

My head spun and I reeled backwards as if from a physical blow, hitting the kitchen table. "Twelve?" I whispered. "_I'm_ twelve. That isn't possible."

Peter spoke up. "Hate to interrupt the family reunion, but we gotta go. The sun's coming up. Lee, I'm about to leave without you."

Mother scowled at him. "And who are you?"

"Peter Pan," he replied proudly and flew from the windowsill before out of the house.

Mother looked like she was going to pass out.

I floated up too, driven by happy thoughts of Neverland, and was halfway out the window when something caught my ankle, digging sharp points into my skin. I cried out and wriggled, kicking backwards hard. I missed, and they grabbed my other foot.

Peter looked back at me. He was low enough to see in.

"Go on without me!" I yelled. "I'll meet you there! Tomorrow or never!" I was jerked abruptly backwards and my chin clipped the windowsill, making me bite my tongue. The taste of blood filled my mouth and I screamed ferociously.

I was dragged back in and the window slammed closed on my head, at least twice and much too hard to be accidental, making everything spin before color faded from the world and it went dark.

* * *

***this is always how I thought Peter Pan should look, plus it's a bit OUaT-ish, appearance/attitude-wise.  
**it just sounds like it could be one of their names. I haven't watched the movie in over seven years, cut me some slack.  
A/N:  
Whoo! Prologue was originally 5 parts, that's why so many line breaks. Sorry for any inaccuracies. I'm keeping it purely under RotG because I don't know much about Peter Pan and I'm basing a lot off Once Upon a Time version with my own quirks, so he's basically my own OC with the name. Hopefully.  
Yes, Lilliana's mother is an absolute b!tch. She gets worse *shudders* I think. Her step-dad is pretty bad as well.  
Her life sucks.  
PLEASE go check out the poll on my profile, I really really need the help.  
Thanks for reading! Reviews, follows, and favorites appreciated and will be responded to/thanked accordingly next chapter! Mwuah *air kisses*  
**


	2. Chapter 1- Peter Doesn't Come

**I Believe||Chapter One- Peter Doesn't Come -or- Who The Heck Is Jack Frost?**

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_Disclaimer: I do not own RotG_

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"-and stay there!" he roared, kicking my side and knocking me back. I crumpled to the floor, my head swimming. My stepfather slammed the door and locked it, the numerous bolts and chains rattling and clicking loud enough for me to hear over my pulse in my ears.

I lay there for a moment before planting my hands on the floor and pushing myself to my knees. I stopped, panting heavily, before crawling over to my bed and hauling myself into it. I steadied my ragged breathing as I assessed my injuries, counting up the number of old ones still healing first, then fresh ones accumulated since Sunday, and finally new ones from today. I stripped down to my underwear, knowing no one would see me. Once my bedroom door was locked, it didn't open until morning. Food was passed through in a flap near the bottom of the door at mealtimes.

Old: The super-sized bruise on my thigh was still purple, but it was turning slowly yellowish. The gash along my shoulder blade either needed stitches or _way_ more bandages, it had been slowly oozing blood for over a week. The mark on my stomach was almost gone.

During the week: The broken blood vessels in my wrists and forearms were too dark to miss, blue blood pooling beneath the surface. The papercuts on my hands were scabbed over and about to peel off. The cuts and bruises along my arms were fresh and painful;_ note to self, get more bandages. _My calves and thighs were black and blue in the shapes of various... _things_. I was _sure_ I had a bruise on my tailbone.

I craned my neck to look at my back. I almost puked at the sight, but I forced myself to focus. Most were old wounds; there were only a few newer bruises. Fine. Fine.

New: My side had an imprint in the shape of a boot. I touched it with my shortened fingertip gingerly; the pain nearly made me scream. I probably had a broken rib, way more than I could fix on my own. I rotated my ankle gingerly and gasped. It was most definitely twisted, if not sprained. I had bruises everywhere, so many I didn't even count them. Same with small cuts, like the thin lines littering my inner forearms. I looked down at my neck, angling my head weirdly to see. I had a slice along my collarbone, perfectly following the ridge, and the hollow at the base of my throat was scratched lightly. I sighed and reached under my thin mattress, my fingers searching until they found the almost empty roll of bandages, and the only one I had.

I set to work on the worst spots first. I did my side carefully, folding up an old and bloodied undershirt for a cushion and using duct tape to secure it. I used small amounts of bandages on my arms and duct-taped them in place. I used the rest of the roll of bandages on my shoulder blade and sighed, tossing the empty tube into a corner of my 'room'. Even that small motion hurt. I groaned thinking of the pain I would have to go through when I put clothes on, so I tugged on an oversized t-shirt of Ethan's that was too small for him but came to my mid-thighs.

I laid down on my hard bed, the only bit of furniture in the entire room, and I drew the threadbare 3x3ft blanket over my shoulders, trying to make myself as small as possible to fit. My teeth were practically chattering. It was like fifty degrees in my room, which was really just the dusty attic with blackout shades over the windows and boards nailed over that so I couldn't see out, no one could see in, and the plain boards weren't suspicious. There were absolutely no lights. I got up when the sun rose and went to bed when it got dark. I shivered, thinking that the blanket wasn't enough.

It was only eight o'clock, but most people were asleep, seeing as it was the middle of winter. I stumbled out of bed, limping over to the largest window, hidden away in a dark corner. I knelt and tore at the boards, which I had weakened greatly over a few months of work.

Before I opened the blackout curtains, I crawled back go the bed and grabbed the other thing under my mattress.

I drew the shades and swung the window open, perching precariously on the windowsill with my bare feet hanging over the edge. I breathed "I believe," into the cold air and waited a moment.

Nothing. I grunted in frustration and looked for where I had left off. Oh, that's right, my left wrist. I peeled the bandage back and lovingly unwrapped the knife I had used in Neverland for seven years, fighting Hook and calling it a sword. I laid the sewn-together rags aside and placed the blade against my wrist, my now-long blond hair- though so dirty it seemed brownish- blowing in the strong wind. I breathed deeply, and on the inhale, I pulled the knife cleanly across my wrist, making a shallow slice. "I believe," I whispered, and cut my wrist again, yet another tally mark for every time I said the words and believed with all my heart, but no one came and brought me back. No one came to find me. Peter never returned. I supposed he forgot about Lee, his top lieutenant for a little while.

Now, I was Lilliana, the freak, the maid, the weirdo loser who disappeared for seven years and reappeared the same age she left.  
I looked at my wrist. Over two dozen thin tallies, on each forearm and another few dozen on each of my biceps. Time to move on again. Each time a scar healed, I replaced it with a fresh one. I moved to my exposed upper legs and started just above the knee. "I believe, I believe, I believe, I believe," I chanted, calmly counting off in my head.

The pain hit me all at once and I gritted my teeth. I cleaned the knife and rewrapped it. I ripped a wide strip of fabric, an old rag I had stolen from the pantry three years ago, laying it over my legs and duct-taping it in place. I scooted backwards and stood weakly, staring out the window. "I do believe. I really do," I said in a regular voice level. "So why haven't you come?"

My voice echoed in the silence, the wind throwing my words back in my face.

"Well, it's about time," a male voice said from behind me. "Took you long enough to realize we were real."

* * *

**A/N:  
I had my first snow day ever today! Thanks Jack!**  
**I don't really have an authors note for this chapter besides:**  
**"Go complete the poll on my profile!"**  
**and** **"  
Check out the massive authors note on my story Jack Frost Or Jack the Cursed? if you read the story! I'm having an OC submission on there and I want a lot of characters (40-50 or some crazy number)!"  
This is Cat Lunanoff, signing off *mock salute***


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